


Listen Carefully

by Havokftw



Series: A penny for your thoughts. Five bucks if they're dirty. [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bottom Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Businessman Choi Seungcheol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Hotel Sex, M/M, Protectiveness, Sexual Inexperience, Sugar Daddy, Top Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, camboy Lee Jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: Seungcheol hesitates. He wasn’t expecting that.He’s expected them to exchange numbers, that there'd be more talking, and awkwardness and - things that weren't that.Is it really this easy?Jihoon seems to think so, what with all the ‘take me home and fuck me’ vibes he’s giving.It’s very possible that Seungcheol has become irresistible ‘daddy’ material to sexy nineteen-year-old cam-boys. Which suggests something has gone wrong with the universe—not that Seungcheol is going to complain, he's just going to wing it until the universe notices (hopefully never.)





	Listen Carefully

**Author's Note:**

> Pics that I have found, or have been sent to me for fic inspiration.  
> [Okay, but this is Jicheol.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/476d3aba51d8c8c6a67501c9bf3ad27a/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po1_1280.jpg)  
> [This I will probably use in a future update. Like Woah.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/3b6580728e21e847921330e4ef135d7e/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po2_1280.jpg)  
> [That Armchair scene. Yes.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/60ab740b29fbaa0e7bfbbd3806e914aa/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po3_1280.jpg)  
> [FUTURE UPDATE FOR SURE.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/7a2df9bb1399aabaf1c4c0c1121b851d/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po4_1280.jpg)  
> [Somebody sent this to me on twitter and Jicheol for sure.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/15f933f9f7b8f91d1083e90e73f906ab/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po5_1280.jpg)  
> [You can't look at this and not instantly think of Jihoon's promo pics for teen-age. Seriously.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/21fa3cf50d21dab15ead79a9c0d79373/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po6_500.jpg)  
> [A twitter mutual sent this to me and...good camboy ref tbh](https://78.media.tumblr.com/5ace00acccacc6471e06c496aeaf28d4/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po7_1280.jpg)  
> [Cheol is a supportive Sugar daddy. I can imagine him doing this and, I will write it.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/fcf8b62e2fcda2dda2cfc44277250e8b/tumblr_ozul5uoFcl1vzsa1po8_1280.jpg)

“I—I—I,” Seungcheol stammers around the knot forming in his throat. It’s possible he’s having an allergic reaction to good news.

Is that even possible? Is he going into anaphylactic shock due to extreme arousal?

Jihoon stiffens, his breath catching before he speaks, “Don’t you want that?” He murmurs, letting go of Seungcheol’s tie.

“I do—oh fuck I do. I just--” Seungcheol hesitates. He wasn’t expecting _that_.

He’s expected them to exchange numbers, that there'd be more talking, and awkwardness and - things that weren't _that_.

Is it really this easy?

Jihoon seems to think so, what with all the _‘take me home and fuck me’_ vibes he’s giving.

It’s very possible that Seungcheol has become irresistible ‘daddy’ material to sexy nineteen-year-old cam-boys. Which suggests something has gone wrong with the universe—not that Seungcheol is going to complain, he's just going to wing it until the universe notices (hopefully _never_.)

“Will a hotel be okay?” Seungcheol manages to keep his tone light even though his heart is a pulp of nervous feeling in his chest.

 “Oh—you’re married.” Jihoon huffs. He lowers his hands into the pockets of his jacket, hunches his shoulders, losing about half a decade as his posture collapses inward.

“What? No. _No_!” Seungcheol corrects, shaking his head.

He licks his lips, avoids Jihoon’s gaze, bracing himself.  “I’m _not_ married, I’m single. I’m just—still based in a hotel at the moment, since I haven’t had time to find a place.”

“Oh—that’s good.” Jihoon sighs, his mouth pulling up at one corner. And it's a relief, how _relieved_ he is. Seungcheol’s not looking to start something seedy between them.

Jihoon shifts where he stands, restless bordering on impatient. “A hotel is fine with me—if it’s fine with you.”

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, gathering shreds of control. "Great." He straightens his tie. It doesn't really need that, it's pure reflex. “My—uhh—car’s in the basement.”

* * *

 

Jihoon takes one look at Seungcheol’s car—a Bugatti Veyron—and honest to God, almost _swoons_.

It’s a sleek, black, 1.2 million dollars of whatever horsepower idling on the ‘Reserved’ parking space in front of him, and fuck if it isn’t the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

Honestly, if that car knocked him over, he wouldn’t even mind.

The inside is somehow even _more_ spectacular, cream leather and polished surfaces, with the kind of complicated dash board you see in spy films.

Jihoon studies the interior, slotting things neatly into place in his mind. Seungcheol appeared out of the Aether two weeks, took a liking to Jihoon almost immediately, looks good in a suit, lives at a hotel and has a suspicious amount of money for someone his age.

“Are you some sort of secret agent? Like an assassin or thief or something.” Jihoon hears himself say, with far too much excitement in his voice.

Seungcheol, who was in the process of tugging his seat belt on, fumbles with the buckle and eyeballs him. “What?”

“Oh my god—are you Batman?” Jihoon asks, trying at the last second to not look  _entirely too interested_  in the answer.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, and then seems to be waiting for some sort of punchline. So, ok, maybe Jihoon got a little off track there, he's blaming the awesome car.

“It pains me to tell you,” Seungcheol says, somewhere between a laugh and a cough, “That I am neither batman, a thief nor a secret agent. What I do is perfectly legal. I’m just a boring business man. I hope I haven’t disappointed you.”

Jihoon snorts laughter. “No—no. Sorry, that would have just been— _wild_.” He says, trying to ignore Seungcheol’s micro-pout.

“Well,” Seungcheol primly straightens his cuffs. “I _did_ steal a pen earlier in the day with absolutely no intention of giving it back. That wild enough for you?”

“Yes. You’re a menace to society.” Jihoon snarks.

They observe each other. Then Seungcheol leans over, reaching past Jihoon’s shoulder to grip the dangling metal of the seatbelt.

He pulls, tugging it down across Jihoon’s body, taking his time with the movement. Jihoon tenses slightly and then lets that tension go in a faint shiver as Seungcheol’s knuckles drag over his chest along with the stretching line of the belt.

He pulls the belt all the way down, clicking it into place at Jihoon’s hip. Seungcheol lets his hand linger, just there, watching Jihoon with glassy eyes.

“Buckle up. Just in case I get into another crazy car chase with the police. This is a stolen vehicle yanno.”

Jihoon snickers and rolls his eyes.

When Seungcheol pulls the car out of the basement garage, Jihoon lifts a hand to turn the radio on, then thinks better of it. There’s something to be said about messing with another guy’s car.

He forces himself to withdraw his hand before Seungcheol becomes fully aware of its presence, but then a larger hand closes over his gently.

Seungcheol lifts Jihoon’s hand back to the dial and holds it there, but doesn’t let go. “It’s okay.”

Jihoon blinks, regarding the strange sight of his hand being held in someone else’s. “Huh?”

“You can turn it on, if you want.”

Seungcheol brushes his thumb over the back of Jihoon’s hand, slow and deliberate, like the leaving of a mark. It’s nothing—it’s less than nothing. It’s ten seconds of contact. But it’s probably the most intimate way Jihoon’s been touched.

He feels something spiky and warm jump in his throat. He shoves it down.

“I know you have good taste,” Seungcheol says, retracting his hand.

That easy smile settles back into Jihoon’s lips, and he pushes the power button in.

Seungcheol lets Jihoon mess with the radio, and judging by the lack of wincing he doesn't find Jihoon's taste too objectionable. Though at one point he does reach over and jerk the volume down.

“So, Jihoon—what are you studying?” Seungcheol asks conversationally.

Jihoon doesn’t typically talk about college with—well—people who aren’t in college. That’s usually a hollow question just to fill silence in his experience. But maybe it’s the cool car, or Seungcheol’s easy company, or the weird way this whole night happened, because for some reason Jihoon hears himself say, “I’m studying music, actually.”

The conversation steam rolls from there, and now Jihoon can’t seem to _shut up._

He _knows_ he’s oversharing, but he’s found somewhere that his interests and Seungcheol's can meet in the middle. A stilted, clumsy space where Jihoon finds his voice.

He finds himself talking about his studies, college life and home _far_ too easily, when usually he’s adrift with strangers, floundering for something to say with a savage sort of frustration.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, he smiles like he never expected Jihoon to even  _try_. Coaxing opinions out of him like he knows what to do with them, treating them like they matter in some way.

Jihoon hasn't been on a date, or openly flirted face to face with anyone in a while. But, with Seungcheol, it’s strangely easy to _breathe_ all of a sudden.

* * *

 

Seungcheol pulls up to a hotel and rolls the car to a stop. He gives Jihoon what he hopes is a reassuring smile, before stepping out and grabbing his briefcase.

Jihoon follows him quietly, closing the door behind him.

When Seungcheol hands the keys over to the valet, the guy takes one look at them and narrows his eyes at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol cringes, hoping Jihoon’s brought his ID in case people start flinging horrifying accusations.

“Good evening, Mr. Choi,” the valet greets, as though Jihoon isn’t there, as though he still isn’t narrowing his eyes at Seungcheol critically. “Will you be needing the car again tonight?”

“No, thank you.” Seungcheol answers, leaving a tip on the valet stand and settling a hand at the small of Jihoon’s back to lead him inside.

When they enter the lobby, Seungcheol hears Jihoon’s startled intake of breath before he says, “Holy shit!” out loud.

Seungcheol stifles a laugh.

Jihoon practically gives himself whiplash as they cross the lobby, head snapping back and forth, taking everything in.

“Good evening, Mr. Choi,” the receptionist greets as they approach a giant oak desk. She also gives them an up and down look, but at least does so more politely than the valet. 

“Any messages?” Seungcheol asks, in a tone that suggests he hopes there are not.

“Yes, several.” she replies, handing him a stack of envelopes from under the desk.

“Great, thanks.” he answers wearily, flipping through them without much enthusiasm.

There’s a quiet rustle from next to him and he turns his head to find Jihoon dipping his hand into the complimentary sweet bowl.

Jihoon pauses with his hand wrist deep in sugared almonds, blinks at Seungcheol innocently, then stuffs a few sweets into his mouth. They crunch loudly as he chews, and now Jihoon looks irritated, like he's made some terrible social gaffe.

Seungcheol grins fondly. He has a sudden urge to order everything on the hotel menu and have it sent up for him.

There will be time for that later. Instead, he resettles his hand at the small of Jihoon’s back and walks him toward a bank of elevators.

Jihoon’s still staring at everything, mouth a little parted in wonder. He pulls his jacket around him a little self-consciously, and Seungcheol realises he’s probably never been to a hotel quite like this before, perhaps a little intimidated by the luxury.

Seungcheol isn't sure whether he should be amused or take notes for future reference.

A thick  _ding_  marks the elevator’s arrival. Seungcheol steps back to allow Jihoon to walk in first, then follows.

“Evening, Mr. Choi,” the attendant greets, pressing the button for the penthouse without having to be asked.

The elevator is massive and it’s just the three of them including the attendant, but Jihoon presses against Seungcheol’s side a little anxiously, watching the floors tick by in silence.

* * *

 

It’s safe to say—Jihoon feels a little out of place in the hotel.

He’s admired the building from the outside, passes it on his way to work, but has never step foot inside and now he realises why—he probably can’t even afford a glass of tap water here.

 _Damn_ —even the _air_ smells better in here.

When they exit the elevator, they step out onto a marbled floor with a single door up ahead.

 _Penthouse suite?_ Seungcheol might not be a super assassin secret spy gangster—but he isn’t hurting for money.

Seungcheol opens the door, leading the way into to a massive suite that is somehow even more luxurious than the lobby below. He sets his briefcase on the ground and tosses his stack of letters onto an already cluttered desk while Jihoon eyes the place appreciatively.

The room isn’t his style exactly (too baroque, too old money), but the flawless elegance of it all is overwhelming. The glossy tile, the heaping flowers, the elaborate gold filigree, the intricately carved wood, everything, every impeccable inch—it’s beautiful in a way Jihoon has only seen in movies or maybe his more masochistic dreams.

Jihoon wants to ask why a hotel room needs a walk-in closet, a box of complimentary cigars and two chandeliers the size of a small car, but knows the inevitable answer is  _rich people_.

It’s only when Seungcheol is standing in front of him, quirking a brow that Jihoon realizes he’s stopped dead in the middle of the suite.

“Can I take your jacket?” Seungcheol asks, tilting his head a little.

“Oh—yeah. Thanks.” Jihoon replies, shrugging out of it and watching Seungcheol hang it neatly in the entryway closet.

He frowns when Seungcheol edges the door shut, then steps around him to adjust the thermostat.

Jihoon gets an inkling Seungcheol isn’t _entirely_ comfortable right now. He can’t put his finger on it, but the guy seems to be going out of his way to not touch Jihoon - which is weird.

It was probably unrealistic to expect Seungcheol to take him passionately back at his office, pinned against the wall, or pull the car over for a quickie in the backseat, or even shove him against the elevator wall once the doors closed.

Jihoon would have been totally fine with any of those scenarios, but chalked up Seungcheol’s polite restraint as a need for privacy.

But now that they’re in the hotel room, _alone_ —there's _still_ no touching and/or frustrated pinning Jihoon against things.

Which is weird considering that now they're in a place where touching of some sort is kind of expected. Jihoon would really like there to be touching. He is absolutely ready for there to be touching and/or pinning of some variety.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. Seungcheol’s still doing the gentlemanly thing, standing with his hands in his pockets, watching Jihoon from a safe six feet away.

Jihoon doesn’t know if he should be impressed or maybe insulted.

“Would you like a drink?” Seungcheol asks.

“Sure, thanks.” Jihoon says, because it seems like the polite thing to do.

“Coming right up,” Seungcheol says, crossing the main suite to the mini kitchen area. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he gestures, just before disappearing through the doorway. 

Jihoon smirks.

 _Make yourself comfortable?_ If that’s not an invitation to get naked and pose seductively—he doesn’t know what is.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol opens the fridge and then just spends an age just staring blankly inside.

He can’t believe he’s gotten to this point.

He’d almost expected the ground to give way beneath his car on the drive here—cause some things are just too good to be true and life usually has a way of stepping in _just_ at the last moment to say— _not so fast pervert._

That didn’t happen. The drive was— _pleasant,_ and Seungcheol’s anxieties had almost been drowned out by Jihoon’s own brand of movement and sound. The rush of breath and speech, happy enough to work under its own steam.

He hadn't expected it to be almost-familiar, in a way that he'd forgotten conversations away from work and business could be. In a way that hurt a little bit, like using rusted over parts of himself. But he'd wanted more of it anyway - and he'd enjoyed listening to Jihoon talk, ceaseless and curious and so young.

But then Seungcheol had caught himself watching the slow twist of delicate hands instead, the bend of a pale throat, and the curve and un-curve of Jihoon's pretty mouth. And suddenly, Seungcheol’s fingers were cramping with the pressure of staying fixed on the steering wheel.

Jihoon was talking away about college and what he wanted to do when he graduated and all Seungcheol could think about was pulling the car over and fucking him.

He felt guilty. Horribly, impossibly guilty, in a way that still felt a lot like arousal.

And now they’re here. Jihoon is _here_ —in his hotel suite, and if everything else plays out—they’re probably going to have sex. Which is— _yeah_.

Seungcheol has spent the last two weeks fantasizing about the graphic, adventurous and flexible sex life he could be having with Jihoon, and of course his conscience has decided it wants a say now too.

Now he realises he needs to give Jihoon some assurances here, before _you know_ —he pins the boy under him.

He intends to give Jihoon a moment to centre himself – or at least to take in his surroundings while _Seungcheol_ centres himself, because regardless of what has transpired between them online, Jihoon is _nineteen_.

He _clearly_ doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know who Seungcheol is, or what he's even asking by being here, not really.

Seungcheol sighs heavily and leans against the open fridge door. He should probably stop staring at the drinks and actually pick one—Jihoon’s waiting for him.  

He wonders exactly what you are supposed to serve a nineteen- year-old cam-boy you bring back to your hotel for steamy sex with a view to becoming their sugar daddy.

And why did it always manage to sound so much worse when he laid it all out?

Seungcheol shakes his head to clear it, grabs Jihoon a coke and pours himself two fingers of whiskey.  He takes a deep breath, walks back into the main suite, and nearly drops both drinks when he takes in the sight of Jihoon on the couch.

"Fuck," Seungcheol says. He's not sure if it's a statement, a request, or just a kind of punctuation, but it seems to fit the moment.

* * *

 

Jihoon doesn’t know what to do with his left arm.

His left arm looks _awkward_.

He’s currently trying to decide whether to drape it along the back of the couch, or rest it behind his head or lay it flat across his waist. He’s almost tempted to amputate it, it’s being so uncooperative right now.

This seduction shit is _so_ much easier when he’s on camera.

He’s still deciding what to do with his stupid left arm when Seungcheol walks back into the suite—and then freezes a few feet away from the couch.

“Fuck.” Seungcheol gasps, eyebrows leaping.

Jihoon feels a rush of panic from his position on the couch, where he _had_ been trying to pose seductively—spread out like Kate Winslet in the Titanic ‘boobie sketching scene’.

He’d debated about shedding all his clothes, and finally decided to keep his panties on as: they matched his thigh highs, he didn’t want to get butt imprints on the really expensive velvet couch, and the room was kind of chilly.

He regrets shedding _any_ of his clothes now cause he obviously misread Seungcheol’s suggestion, judging by the guys facial spasming and the fact that he has two fucking drinks in his hand.

“Oh—you actually got me a drink!” Jihoon says, one quick burst of ragged words before Seungcheol can say—whatever the hell it was he was going to say.

Seungcheol stares at him for a long, uncomfortable minute, two glasses in hand.  “Well—yeah.”

“You said to get comfortable. I thought that was like a euphemism or something for me to get naked.” Jihoon says, scrambling off the couch to accept his drink.

Seungcheol doesn’t reply to that, but his eyes are fixed on Jihoon, raking down his body with a conflicted, hungry expression that thrills Jihoon to the core.

“You even got me a straw.” Jihoon muses, wrapping his lips around the straw and taking a sip to be polite. And it's kind of weird that Seungcheol even knows about his cola addiction. But, hey, he’s not going to turn down an ice cold cola.

Seungcheol’s still staring though, watching Jihoon’s cheeks hollow out as he sucks, and Jihoon can't help the way the straw slips from his mouth, leaving it half open, and sticky-wet.

“Is the straw a euphemism for something? Are you asking me to go down on you?” He asks, just to fill the horrible, embarrassed silence...with more horrible embarrassment.

Seungcheol's eyebrows curve down in offence.

“I— _No_?” Seungcheol says slowly and quietly, as if he isn't entirely sure - no matter what he says.

“Cause I _will_. I can suck you off if you want.” Jihoon blurts out.

Seungcheol is shaking his head, slowly at first like he's dazed, then quicker. “It’s just a straw Jihoon.”

Jihoon stares at his apparently not-suggestive straw. He really doesn't know what to do with that. He shoves the straw back in his mouth, bends it sideways and tries to look like he's too busy drinking it to form any more words.

“Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?” Seungcheol says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. There's a twitch in his jaw that just won't leave.

Jihoon squints at him. He sounds casual, and Jihoon can't determine the real intent behind his words. His brain works rapidly while his dick starts to twitch, pre-emptively. “Is that,”

“That’s not a euphemism either.” Seungcheol interrupts quickly. “I’m literally asking you if you want something to eat.”

Jihoon sighs. Seungcheol is so much work, seriously.

He takes Seungcheol’s glass from him and sets both down on the table, then spreads his hands over the expanse of Seungcheol’s chest, feeling the heat and muscle through the shirt he is wearing.

“I appreciate this whole seduction scene you have going on here, but I’m kind of a sure thing. Maybe we could just—” Jihoon says, thumbing at the top button of Seungcheol’s shirt. 

Seungcheol touches his hands to Jihoon’s, stilling them.

“We don’t have to—do anything right away. We can just—” but he must sense Jihoon’s irritation, because he stops mid-sentence.

“What do you think is happening here?” Jihoon says, trying to sound more amused than annoyed. He knows he’s coming dangerously close to scolding his client, but this is getting ridiculous.

Why is Seungcheol suddenly so hesitant?

Has he changed his mind?

What Jihoon should _probably_ do is slide off his panties to distract Seungcheol—or at least sink back into the come-hither character he usually wears flawlessly on camera. For whatever reason, Seungcheol keeps making him shed it, pulling out too much of the real Jihoon.

“I thought you wanted this,” Jihoon gestures towards the bed, and then himself, in a way that he admits isn't exactly spelling it out. But he's kind of new at this, and he's aware - oh so very aware - that when his mouth runs away with itself things can sometimes end badly.

He doesn't want this to end badly, and that keeps choking off his usual need to blurt out whatever occurs to him, whenever it occurs to him.

“But if you’ve changed your mind, if you’re not _interested_ ,” Jihoon elongates the word, making it clear what they’re talking about, “Then I can go.”

“No.” Seungcheol says at last, frustrated, irritated, accepting? Jihoon doesn't even know any more. "I am _interested_ — _Very_ interested. Since I first saw you all I wanted was to -" He turns his gaze to the floor pointedly rather than finish that sentence, which Jihoon is disappointed about, because he _really_ wants to know what exactly Seungcheol wants to do to him.

“To what?” Jihoon asks roughly.  

Seungcheol takes a breath, his brow collapsed in thought. “I’m sorry,” He fidgets.

Jihoon stares at him, at his hands – holy crap, is Seungcheol actually nervous?

“I’m not exactly familiar with the standard etiquette of— _this_. I figured it would take you longer to get comfortable around me. I didn’t expect you to be so _wiling_ to just come home with me and let me…. I don’t want you to feel like this is-”

"Is it because I’m nineteen," Jihoon pipes up, because his brain likes to fuck with him sometimes. He tried really hard not to poke the elephant in the room that is the ‘age difference’ and now Seungcheol has this pained, guilty expression on his face. Jihoon wonders if it's a self-destructive thing. This sudden need to screw himself over when good things happen to him.

“Can you please stop taking credit for my depravity. I know what I’m doing.” Jihoon says before Seungcheol can constipate himself further.

Seungcheol looks at him sharply, something heavy settling into the fold of his eyebrows.

“Do you? Do you _really_?” Seungcheol says, his tone borderline confrontational. “Cause you just went home with a stranger. Have you told anyone your plans for the evening? Does anyone know where you are?”

Jihoon swallows, feeling the air thicken in his throat. “No.”

“Unbelievable. Did you even stop to think?” He says, sounding quietly chastising, a breath away from angry.

Jihoon watches Seungcheol tense and relax, restless, like he wants to pace but he's resisting. “Fucking hell Jihoon. You’re miles away from home, at night, on the weekend, with a guy you barely know. You might be safe from pervs from behind a computer screen, but I could do anything to you right now.” He says firmly.

It takes a while for that to work its way round Jihoon's brain and sink in. And when it does—he’s abruptly terrified. His face must show something, because Seungcheol suddenly softens, only slightly, his expression a little less angry.

“You should message someone. Let them know where you are and with who.” Seungcheol speaks, it's soft and decisive, and leaves no room for debate.

Jihoon huffs out a dramatic sigh, feeling like a mutinous teenager.

It’s so weirdly out of place, this protectiveness, as though Seungcheol didn’t proposition Jihoon with a bunch of gifts—as though that proposition wasn’t after he watched a live stream of him describing Jihoon as having a ‘ _cream white ass made for cock’_. 

It’s insulting, almost. That Jihoon has to message a friend to—what? Make this guy feel better about propositioning a nineteen-year-old?

Nevertheless, Jihoon grabs his phone out of his jacket pocket, and quickly flicks into the messages, finds Hannie.

Hannie  
  
So I met up with Hot business guy and everything is fine.  
  


That's all he means to say, cause Seungcheol is obviously blowing this out of proportion. But he has a new message open before he really thinks about it.

Fuck it.

Hannie  
  
So I met up with Hot business guy and everything is fine.  
  
Okay, so I may have asked him to take me back to his. And I’m in his hotel now. Don't freak out.  
  


Jeonghan’s reply is instantaneous.

Hannie  
  
OMG. Are you fucking insane? Please tell me this is a joke!  
  


Jihoon stares at the reply for a quiet minute, and then it hits him, how—dumb he is.

He can't believe how willingly he went home with a man, who, online acquaintance or not, is really nothing more than a stranger to him.

Jihoon’s never been this careless before, not even with somebody he was _dating_. And if not for Seungcheol’s insistence—nobody would have known where he was.

Jihoon doesn't trust easily, is the thing. He doesn't feel comfortable letting people get close to him. That he's let Seungcheol in so easily, charmed by his manners and enamoured by the idea of an older man giving him attention, is unacceptable.

But, he likes Seungcheol. He likes his voice, and his laugh, and the way he talks; his hands, and his body, the way he actually listens to Jihoon, the easy familiarity. He likes it all—and after all the conversations he’s had with men online, he knows how to get a sense for someone right away.

The sense he gets from Seungcheol is that he must be as bored as he is rich. He seems a little bit lonely, a little bit cocky. Most importantly, he seems like no threat to Jihoon or to anyone else.

“Everything good?” Seungcheol ask, significantly closer than he was before, voice just over Jihoon's left shoulder.

Jihoon set his phone down and rubs his arm self-consciously. He's uncomfortably out of his depth, and he doesn't like it. 

“I messaged my friend okay. They know where I am. I--” Jihoon’s voice stalls out. He feels overexposed, skinless all of the sudden. He crosses his arms over his chest, regretting his choice to strip out of his clothing because now he has nothing to hide behind.

Seungcheol approaches him, hands lifted playfully in submission as though Jihoon’s silent turmoil is a gun cocked in his direction.

“Look—I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m new to this, I don’t know what I’m doing. But I do know you need to keep yourself safe. You don’t know me and until you _get_ to know me—you have to be careful with what you agree to.”

Jihoon shoves a hand through his hair and forces himself not to look at Seungcheol for long enough to swear under his breath.

It should irritate him, or at least make the whole thing condescending. But it’s—and Jihoon feels stupid for thinking this, and maybe it’s all those fucking cold showers messing with his head and leaving him starved for any kind of warmth, even the barely-there kind that passes between people, but it’s—

It’s nice that Seungcheol cares.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol speaks up, stepping closer.

Jihoon doesn't say a word, barely breathes when Seungcheol’s feet bring him across the rug, bring him close enough to reach out.

It surprises Jihoon that he _does_ reach out, splaying his fingers over Jihoon’s naked back. The touch is open and careful, an arms length left between their bodies.

Seungcheol is being polite again, Jihoon notes. Way too polite, when it’s clear that all he wants to do is obliterate the distance between them and crowd himself against Jihoon.

Jihoon realizes he wants Seungcheol to do that too, and it’s such a bizarre thing for Jihoon to think that it makes him sort of dizzy for a second, drunk on it.

“No. I feel so stupid.” He murmurs pitifully.

“Hey—don’t.” Seungcheol says softly, sliding a hand around the back of Jihoon’s neck, the other reaching out to turn his face. Gently, he tips Jihoon’s chin up with two fingers, “Don’t say that. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He whispers, smiling, and all at once Jihoon realizes how close they are standing.

“I know you wouldn’t have come with me if you didn’t want to be here. But you should be cautious with who you trust Jihoon. Not everyone is going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated—I—,” Seungcheol’s voice goes low and breathless, but it still manages to be clear and hard and so  _very_  close.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Seungcheol says, tucking a lock of hair behind Jihoon’s ear, and Jihoon is almost certain this is what makes him move, lay a hand on the relaxed curve of Seungcheol’s shoulder, and then rise up on his toes close enough to kiss him.

It's just the slightest push against Seungcheol's mouth before he draws back, not far, still close enough that their gazes lock, close enough to feel Seungcheol's breath shivering over his lower lip.

He's not sure what he's expecting, but his reckless streak relishes the gamble.

His recklessness is rewarded, there's a large hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in again and Jihoon doesn't even hesitate, wraps a hand round Seungcheol's neck and pushes their mouths back together.

It's not a gentle kiss, it's probably nothing like a first kiss should be. Hard on one side, persuasive on the other, aggressive and accepting. Slow and greedy. They probably shouldn't work as well as this. There should be edges where they don't fit, but Jihoon is yet to find them.

When Seungcheol's tongue sweeps hotly across the seam of his lips, Jihoon opens for him, submitting instantly and allowing him to simply  _take_.

He refuses to be embarrassed about how desperately he's clinging, or how readily he finds himself pressing into every possessive touch, every place Seungcheol holds on too hard. Restless, greedy and perfect, everything Jihoon has been fantasizing about for the last few weeks.

Seungcheol's fingers are spread low on his stomach, fingernails scraping lightly, in a way that slams straight through him. Teasing at the edge of his panties. Jihoon is pretty sure Seungcheol wants to touch his dick, and he is completely and absolutely down with that.

Jihoon lifts his hand until he can wrap his fingers around Seungcheol's hand, guiding it down underneath the seam of his panties.

Seungcheol pulls back from the kiss, breathing hard. “Before we do anything, I want to get one thing straight. I don’t want you for the night.”

“Huh?” Jihoon jerks back immediately. Floundering.

Seungcheol cups the back of his neck and reels him back in. “Sorry—I mean, I don’t _just_ want you for the night. The sugar daddy thing we talked about—which seriously we need to come up with another word for cause it makes me feel like I’m sixty—I want that. I want to keep you.”

“Really?” Jihoon sounds more surprised than he means to.

“Yes.”

“Are you serious?” Jihoon asks, quiet behind genuine disbelief. Seungcheol keeping his word wasn't something Jihoon had been counting on. People break their promises all the time, especially casual ones made to some guy they'd met online.

“Absolutely.” Seungcheol smiles, sweeping his knuckles playfully across Jihoon's heated cheek. “I want you. I want—to keep you happy, and I’ll do everything I can to achieve that. On one condition.”

“And what’s that?” Jihoon asks, wary but not surprised. He knows better than to expect anything for free.

“Don’t play a part with me.” Seungcheol says, lifting a hand to comb his fingers through Jihoon’s hair almost curiously.

“What do you mean?” Jihoon puts as much caution into that question as he can, and then braces himself.

Seungcheol lets out a heavy rattle of a sigh. “Pretending to be a person you’re not is part of what you have to do on camera. _I get that._ But that’s not really you, is it? The uber cute—pale pink sweaters and ‘please wreck me’ routine—that’s not entirely you. And forgive me if I’m being overly presumptuous, but I don’t think thigh highs are your preference.”

Jihoon’s brow creases in a defiant frown.

“How do you know that’s not me?” He challenges, pissed at Seungcheol for presuming he knows what kind of person Jihoon is or isn’t.  

“Because I saw you,” Seungcheol says, leaning closer. There's something dark in his eyes, something predator-smooth in the movements of his shoulders. “When you showed me your face cause I was nice to you during a chat, when you got upset when I didn’t call you back, when you turned down that watch cause it was too much. You were different. Jihoon has an attitude you beat down because you’re convinced nobody likes it, but you don’t have to do that with me.”

Jihoon swallows. He wonders when he became so transparent.

There is a mess of words in his throat and he is fairly sure they are all wrong. But it doesn't matter because he can't force anything through his teeth. He can't remember ever being this desperate to speak while being so terrified of it at the same time.

“I want to give you attention Jihoon.” Seungcheol says, thumb brushing across Jihoon’s lips, blunt and delicate. Jihoon only barely resists the impulse to lick it. “All I’m asking is that you don’t feed me whatever tart act your admittedly impressive internet persona was designed around. Just be you—I _like_ you.”

Jihoon makes a quiet noise of disbelief. He has a shamefully terrible time trying to determine whether Seungcheol’s being serious.

He thinks maybe his perspective is tainted because his relationships have never been about pursuing anything real, that he’s never been with someone who actually gives a crap what _he_ wants. He’s become very familiar with the art of attraction online, but somehow he just never guessed anyone liked him enough to see him for him.

“Let me make sure I’m getting this,” Jihoon says, trying to strike absolute clarity. “You’ll be my sugar daddy, provided I don’t fake shit?”

Seungcheol nods slowly. “That’s the basic idea, yes.”

“You want me to be myself, no sugar coating, no bullshit?” Jihoon thinks out loud, churning the whole thing over.

“No bullshit.” Seungcheol affirms.

Jihoon takes a long, measured look at Seungcheol, trying to figure out if there is an angle here he’s missing.

“What do you get out of this? Apart from sex. Do I have to do anything?” Jihoon asks, needing to get the question out.

It’s too good. It has to be. Jihoon knows better than to believe that things like this happen to people like him.

Seungcheol seems like a good guy. He does. But Jihoon knows a lot of guys who seem good on the surface. There has to be some sort of catch—some nefarious underbelly to the thing. He’s pretty sure this is the part where Seungcheol is going to tell him the whole deal rests on the condition that he sleeps upside down in a sex cage while Seungcheol masturbates to snuff films.

“You don’t really have to do anything. I mean—” Seungcheol’s shoulders rise and then fall, something like a shrug. “It would be nice if I could see you regularly. I have a somewhat hectic job and you’ve proven to be a pretty good distraction.”

Jihoon takes all of this in dazedly and thinks about it. “But—what if you don’t like the real me? I’ve been told ‘Jihoon’ has ‘attitude’ problems.”

“I’m sure I’ll find ways of handling that if the need arises—I’m a very good disciplinarian.” Seungcheol says. There is a hint of indulgence in his voice, some private amusement Jihoon isn't privy to.

“So? What do you say?” Seungcheol says slowly, and his voice is warm, and easy.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, his voice coming out a little cracked at the edges. “Yeah, that’s—Okay. It’s a deal.”

Seungcheol smiles, wide and easy and appealingly gentle, and Jihoon finds himself returning it without thinking.   

“So,” Jihoon asks, pressing his body flush against Seungcheol’s broad chest. “what now?”

Seungcheol’s hands move down and fold round Jihoon's hips, but Jihoon can feel some of that fussy politeness sink back into him and cups him through his slacks to stifle it.

Seungcheol swallows back a groan. “Whatever you like.”

“Anything?”

Seungcheol pauses, as if considering how this might go wrong. “Anything,” he agrees, after a minute.

“I want you to fuck me. Hard. I don’t want you to hold back. But first, there’s something I’d really like to do.”

* * *

 

“Oh God—oh fuck— _oh my god!!_ That feels so fucking good!”

Jihoon is being _way_ too loud. He knows that.

“Fuck. That’s— _fuck_. Yes—Yesss. Oh my god!”

He just can’t seem to stop himself. It’s been a while. Too long since he’s done this. This is awesome.

“ _YESSSSSS_! OH—FUCK _YESSS_!”

He thinks he might be crying, actually crying, but it’s hard to tell with the hot spray hitting him from so many directions.

There are four showerheads in here. _Four_. And heated tiling.

“ _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_.”

Jihoon could fit his entire dorm room, bathroom, and closet inside of this shower. The size of it, it’s absolutely—well, Jihoon wants to say absolutely ridiculous, but right now, with so much blessedly hot water drumming his skin, he can’t say a bad word about it.

“ _Ghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooodddddd_.”

Jihoon has no idea how long he’s been in here. He hasn’t been able to push past the pure, blissed-out sensation of it to do anything practical like keep hold of time. He’s just been leaning against the tile, his weight braced on his forearms, his head tipped down under the hot spray. 

It’s only after his skin is raw all over, his fingers far past pruning, that Jihoon forces himself to turn off the water and step out.

He dries himself off with a gorgeously soft towel that is, without question, the most expensive thing his naked body has ever touched. He pads across the heated tile, considering the pile of clothes he stripped off, but stops when he spots a robe hanging on the back of the door.

When Jihoon walks back into the main room, he sees Seungcheol seated in an armchair by the desk, toying with an envelope but not quite opening it.

“Are those important?” Jihoon asks, gesturing to the pile of messages.

“Kind of.”

“Do you need to go through them?”

Seungcheol tosses the envelop on the desk. “It can wait,” He says, glancing up. His glance becomes a stare as he takes in the sight of Jihoon—dripping hair, loosely tied robe, the bright flush of his skin. “C’mere.”

Jihoon pads over to where Seungcheol is sitting, letting his fingers play over the bottle of whiskey as he leans against the desk.

Seungcheol toys with the too-long tie on Jihoon’s robe, flipping the end through his fingers.

“May I ask you a question?” Seungcheol says.

“Sure.”

“Are you sexually aroused by other people’s showers?”

Jihoon laughs, “Erm, not usually.”

“Just tonight?”

“Just since my dorm stopped producing hot water.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows. “Damn, how long has that been?” He asks.  

Jihoon’s hums thoughtfully, “Three months, at least.” He shrugs. “I don’t really remember.”

Seungcheol’s brows pinch together harder. “It’s the middle of winter—”

“It’s not a big deal.” Jihoon dismisses, but Seungcheol looks furious.

“Like _hell_ it isn’t. I can’t-”

Jihoon presses his fingers to Seungcheol’s lips, stilling them. The touch is light, but it’s enough. Seungcheol goes quiet. He curves his hand around Seungcheol’s jaw, scraping his thumb over light stubble. Seungcheol sighs, sinking back into the soft leather of the chair.

Jihoon steps forward. Their legs slot together, Jihoon standing and Seungcheol sitting. Jihoon slides his knee along the inseam of Seungcheol's pants, pressing closer.

He wraps his fingers around Seungcheol’s tie, leaning in. “You talk too much.” He says, pulling it taut.

Seungcheol’s mouth drops open, then closes into a grin. “Thought you said you liked the sound of my voice?” 

Jihoon stretches the knot until it’s slack, pulls it from Seungcheol’s neck, dropping it to the floor. “For all you know, I could be saying that to everyone.” He teases.

Seungcheol skims his fingers up Jihoon’s leg, tracing behind the bend of his knee. “Liar.”

Jihoon slopes forward, both hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders, and settles into his lap. He untucks Seungcheol's shirt from his waistband and pushes up underneath it, his hands sliding between fabric and skin.

“What do you want?” Jihoon asks.

“Just about everything,” Seungcheol says. “Maybe I’ll start with a shower—you made it sound so very appealing.”

“No, I have other ideas.” Jihoon laughs, thumbing at the notches of Seungcheol’s stomach muscles.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you do that,” Seungcheol sighs.

Jihoon blinks. “Do what?”

Seungcheol doesn’t reply, just brushes his knuckles over Jihoon’s dimple.

Jihoon lets out a shivery breath. He tries to discard this alongside the thousands of other horny compliments his viewers have given him, but something about this _sticks_. His smile brightens under the brush of Seungcheol’s hand, unbidden. He feels silly for it, but it happens, and he allows it.  _No bullshit._

Jihoon unclasps Seungcheol’s belt, pulling it free and dropping it to the floor next to the tie. He works open the polished metal buttons on Seungcheol’s shirt, slow and neat. Seungcheol’s strokes a hand over his thighs, watching Jihoon’s movements with hooded eyes as he peels the shirt open.

Jihoon runs his hands over Seungcheol, over his broad shoulders and his chest and the muscles in his stomach, unconsciously licking his own lips. He realizes this when he catches Seungcheol looking at his mouth, intent.

He does it again, shimmies in Seungcheol’s lap so he’s sitting right over the bulge in his slacks.

Seungcheol’s eyes go dark, and he curls his fingers around Jihoon's shoulders, sliding his hands slowly down under the top of the robe. Jihoon's breath hitches when Seungcheol thumbs his nipples, just once, rough enough to make them stand up.

At last, Seungcheol mouths at the sharp cut of Jihoon’s clavicle, slow with a hint of teeth, drawing the robe from his shoulders with blunt fingernails. It feels good, Seungcheol’s mouth. His tongue hits the hollow of Jihoon’s throat, sucking gently, and Jihoon hears himself let out a little pleasured hum. 

Seungcheol’s hands drop to Jihoon’s hips, fingers bunching into the fabric of the robe. “May I remove this?” He asks, and Jihoon almost laughs because the words are so fucking polite but his voice is run raw, like Seungcheol’s just smoked an entire pack of cigarettes or maybe three.

“Please.”

Seungcheol does, closing his fists around the fabric and pulling until the robe spreads open and drops to the floor. 

“Look at you,” Seungcheol says, to the air, to himself, “Fuck. That camera doesn’t do you justice.” 

Jihoon flushes. He’s naked, sitting in a man’s lap, and he’s trying to make it less of a big deal, but Seungcheol’s breath fogs out, taking in the sight of him.

“You don’t look real.” Seungcheol whispers right before their lips meet. He kisses Jihoon soft and slow and achingly sweet, hand cupping his face like he's something precious and breakable.

Jihoon has to take a minute to wonder if Seungcheol is entirely real, himself.

Jihoon wants nothing more to rub himself all over him. He’s practically vibrating with a million different urges, each one dirtier than the next, and his cock is straining against his belly like just being  _around_  this man is enough to turn him into some kind of human sex toy.

Seungcheol is more than just solid, he’s strong thighs and broad shoulders and strength down to his bones, like he could scoop Jihoon up without any effort at all. But all that power stays at bay as Jihoon grinds down onto him, Seungcheol’s hands gentle on his back when they could easily crush bruises into his skin.

It makes Jihoon a shade of rough that he's not used to, that he cannot absolutely control.

“Are we doing this now?” Jihoon asks, pulling away from the kiss and sliding his palm over the broad shoulders, and down the firm chest—“Or do you need to guilt trip about it some more? Maybe you want me to do my homework first or something? Speak to my parents.” He drawls, palming the bulge in Seungcheol’s pants, making his breath trip out in razor-edged stutters.

“You little tease,” Seungcheol laughs.

Both his hands are on Jihoon’s ass now, giving a squeeze. When they roam elsewhere, skimming over his thighs and curling under his knees, it makes Jihoon’s toes curl. He’d love to ride Seungcheol here in the chair—imagines what it would be like bent over the desk.

But, the next thing he knows, Seungcheol is standing up out of the chair and hoisting him up too, burying his face in Jihoon's neck with a groan.

For all his startlement, Jihoon doesn't fight. He's lightheaded from the tidal wave of  _want_  that snakes through him, because Seungcheol is lifting him like he weighs _nothing_ , and the show of strength is making his blood sing.

He doesn't wait to see what Seungcheol will do next. No, as soon as Jihoon's surprise fades, he wraps his legs around Seungcheol’s waist, arches his body deliberately against his. Challenge and invitation. He shivers with anticipation when Seungcheol responds with a smirk, carrying him over to the bed, easing him down and kissing him again.

Jihoon feels breathless and lost and drunk and frantic. Seungcheol's mouth is brutal on his, drawing back to bite at his lower lip before pressing in hard once more, tongue thrusting past parted lips, filthy and forceful and suggestive of other intimacies.

Jihoon's skin is hot. His blood is racing, his pulse a manic chaos. His cock is hard. Fuck, he's so hard he  _aches_ , and he needs—

He  _needs_ —

Seungcheol's weight shifts against him, and suddenly there's a knee nudging between his legs. Seungcheol's muscled thigh spreading him, pressing hard and high and exactly where Jihoon needs it.

He doesn't mean to break from the kiss, but it's too much. His head snaps back on a helpless groan. He ruts against Seungcheol's thigh, accepting the offered friction. He rides the unyielding heat, straining towards a release he can't quite touch.

When Seungcheol dips down again to renew their kiss, Jihoon whines into his mouth, breathes a helpless moan around Seungcheol’s invading tongue. Maybe later he'll be embarrassed at sounding so pathetically hungry. For the moment, he doesn't have the space in his head for self-consciousness.

Seungcheol is moving too, rutting against his hip, pressing harder between his thighs. Their bodies are an uncoordinated dance of arousal and urgency, hunger and fire, passion and need.

When Seungcheol releases his mouth it's with a soft sigh, and a tilt of Jihoon’s chin to expose his throat. He nuzzles along the vulnerable line of exposed skin before pressing his mouth to the rapid-fire panic of Jihoon's pulse. It's a hard kiss, followed by the kind of biting, sucking warmth that tells Jihoon he'll see proof of this moment in the mirror tomorrow morning.

Fucking hell, Seungcheol is  _marking him_ , is already choosing another spot, kissing visible claim into his skin.

Jihoon’s breathless when Seungcheol finally lets go of his thighs to grasp him elsewhere. Those enormous hand curls around his waist before sliding lower, down his hip, squeezing the swell of his ass.

Jihoon's grip tightens, urging him on, encouraging him.

" _Seungc-_ ," he chokes, fingers twisting in the fabric of Seungcheol's sleeve. He buries his face against Seungcheol’s shoulder, eyes stinging, whole body an inferno. "Daddy, please, I need—"

“Tell me dumpling, anything for you.” Seungcheol says, hooking his forearm under Jihoon’s knee and yanking, spreading Jihoon wide open for him.

Jihoon feels a flash of arousal mixed with embarrassment. He takes a deep, quiet breath and doesn't startle when Seungcheol’s fingers brush at the skin behind his balls, sliding down the crack to his opening. The fingers stay there for a moment, rubbing in slow circles, and Jihoon's hips twitch, a blush licking at his cheeks.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head against the pillows to look down at where Seungcheol’s hand has disappeared from sight.

Seungcheol leans over the side to reach the bedside cabinet. He pulls out a bottle of lube and pops the cap, coats his fingers.

“Tell me if—”

“For fuck’s sake, Seungcheol, you’ve seen what I can handle—”

Seungcheol pushes one finger into Jihoon, straight to the knuckle. A traitorous whine vents from Jihoon’s throat.

“Shut up,” he mumbles pre-emptively, his head lolling back as Seungcheol moves into him more firmly.

“Wasn’t going to say a thing,” Seungcheol says, smirking a little, not taking his eyes off what he is doing with his fingers.

“Yes— _ahh_.” Jihoon moans as Seungcheol withdraws the finger, then pushes it back in, a slow slide up to the third knuckle. 

Seungcheol presses in a second finger and Jihoon hisses through his teeth, taking it.

“Oh god—your fingers—so thick, I love them.” Jihoon blurts without meaning to.

For all his fussy politeness, Seungcheol is not shy when it comes to this. He works Jihoon open with a deftness that borders on expert, stretching Jihoon open with uncharacteristic care, stroking almost lovingly.

It's difficult to stay quiet, the way Seungcheol is moving inside him, especially when he finds Jihoon's prostate. Instead of massaging it, he strokes just  _around_  it, skirting the fringes of Jihoon's most sensitive nerve endings. It's sweet and maddening simultaneously and Jihoon's flushed, already breaking into a sheen of sweat.

“ _Seungcheol_.” Jihoon gasps, one low, broken word.

“God, you’re so fucking _beautiful_. You should see yourself.” Seungcheol breathes, scissoring his fingers until Jihoon can’t say anything else.  

Jihoon tries to calm himself, not wanting to come until Seungcheol is inside him, but Seungcheol has other ideas. He shifts them, aiming for a new angle. He hits it just right, managing a third finger while thrumming Jihoon’s prostate with relentless pressure.

"Do—don't," Jihoon pants, eyes squeezing shut.

"There you are," Seungcheol purrs, propping himself up on one forearm to look down at Jihoon.

It’s too much, maybe, but Jihoon can’t stop himself from making these greedy torn-up noises, from arching his back into it.

Seungcheol curls his fingers a little, making them press harder against Jihoon’s prostate and Jihoon has to bite his lip, concentrating hard to hold off his orgasm.

"Don’t want this. Want you," he tries again, breathless. His fingers slip from Seungcheol’s shoulder to wrap around his wrist. The grip is weak; Jihoon can only hope it conveys what he means.

“If you insist,” Seungcheol says, undoing the zipper of his pants with one hand while continuing to skim inside Jihoon with the other.

Jihoon can reach out just enough to drag them down, forcing Seungcheol’s pants to bunch inelegantly at his thighs. Seungcheol pulls his fingers away and Jihoon rasps out a whine he didn’t know was waiting in his throat.

"So eager," Seungcheol says softly, amusement back in his eyes, in the curve of his lips. His eyes drop briefly to Jihoon's mouth, and he bends down to press an open mouthed, almost affectionate kiss against Jihoon's parted lips before getting up and off the bed to strip.

When he comes back into view, he's taken off his own pants and underwear and Jihoon follows the strong lines of his body with half-lidded eyes, his appreciation matching his body's hungry response, a surging pulse of arousal tugging at his insides. He lets his eyes linger on Seungcheol’s cock, already hard, wet and curving up toward his belly.

Jihoon runs his tongue absently over his lower lip, thinking, _Holy—JFDKSJSFKSJSFKD!_

Jihoon swallows, covering up his nervousness with a twist of his lips and a raised eyebrow. “So, foot long subway wasn’t just some overly generous description.”

Seungcheol smirks and looks pointedly down at his dick. “Some guy I met in the gym gave me that nickname, and not gonna lie—pretty proud of it.”

“I bet you gave it to yourself.” Jihoon snorts, rolling his eyes not-quite-discreetly.

Seungcheol bites half-heartedly at his shoulder. “I did not— _shit_ ,” he chokes out as Jihoon’s fingers curl around the thick length and give it a leisurely stroke.

With Seungcheol panting in his ear, Jihoon is not exactly performing at his best. His strokes are messy and odd-angled, no rhythm to any of it. Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, eyes locked to where Jihoon’s slim fingers are slipping over his cock. “So big—want it inside me.”

“Patience dumpling.” Seungcheol says, leaning over the side of the bed to grab a condom.

His fingers are slippery with lube, so Jihoon opens the condom packet, taking his time to roll it down Seungcheol's cock. He gives the base an affectionate squeeze, strokes him a few more times while Seungcheol settles himself on his knees between Jihoon's thighs.

Jihoon's legs go up automatically, ankles hooking together in the small of Seungcheol's back. He tilts his pelvis up, too, wanton and eager and Seungcheol's hands automatically fall to his hips and pull, dragging Jihoon to him.

The move brings Jihoon's ass off the bed, putting a strain on his back and abdomen, but Jihoon only rolls into it, trusting in Seungcheol to keep him up.

Jihoon’s had plenty of large toys shoved inside him, but usually it’s under his control, so Seungcheol’s cock still feels huge going in, stretching his opening until Jihoon feels like sobbing with it.

He swallows a moan, his hips twitching –away from the invasion or towards it, Jihoon isn't sure—as Seungcheol presses further in, then withdraws a little, his thumb rubbing softly against the stretched skin next to where he is breaching Jihoon's body.

“Didn’t expect you to be this tight Jihoonie.” He grins, bottoming out until his thighs are hot against Jihoon’s ass.

The angle is new, deeper, and Jihoon wants to thrust down on it, but with his hips in the air, he doesn't have the strength or the energy to do so.

Then again, it's not necessarily a burden to be at Seungcheol's mercy.

Seungcheol starts fucking into him, slowly, at first, and then faster, rougher, fucking Jihoon with long, deep, relentless strokes.

One hand grips tight to Jihoon's hip, the other dragging fingertips through the mess of precome on Jihoon's belly. Knuckles brush along his cock, warm and rough, and Jihoon groans. Groans it again when a nail flicks at his slit.

Jihoon's eyes slip shut automatically, head tossed back into the pillow. This is what he knows, what he loves, and he has to bite his lip to keep from saying it out loud, hands fisting in the pillowcase.

Seungcheol's hands are warm, splayed wide over Jihoon's ass, pulling him into each thrust with a quiet intensity. As he slides them up along Jihoon's sides, the rasp of Seungcheol's dry skin tickles, making Jihoon's muscles shiver.

When Seungcheol shifts the angle and the head of his cock drags across Jihoon’s prostate, Jihoon lets out a throaty, wrecked moan, and he gives up trying to quiet himself. “AHH—YES!”

"Yeah," Seungcheol breathes, snapping his hips forward, hard. "Yeah, just like that. Let me hear you.”

Jihoon throws his head back and screams, not shy about making noise, not shy about anything, anymore.

The room is filled with their harsh breaths, Jihoon’s moaning, the sound of flesh against flesh, until Seungcheol’s strokes into him become shorter, harder, more erratic.

“Yes— _yes_ —more—fuck me!”

Seungcheol pushes Jihoon’s legs up, leaning over him. Jihoon tips his head forward, expecting lush lips and a wicked tongue, but the hands stop somewhere around Jihoon's shoulder blades and Jihoon's eyes open a second before the world tilts and he's upright, knees falling to either side of Seungcheol's powerful thighs.

Seungcheol swallows Jihoon's gasp of surprise, chuckling. "Can't do all the work, now," he murmurs into Jihoon's mouth, smiling. "Ride me."

They're pressed together from groin to chest, wet, open mouths bumping against each other. Jihoon's arms wrap around Seungcheol's neck on instinct, holding on as he rides Seungcheol's cock, little rolls of his hips at first, until he figures out how to use Seungcheol's shoulders for leverage.

At this angle, Jihoon sits slightly higher than Seungcheol, and he rests his forehead against Seungcheol's while he tries not to focus on the orgasm tightening low in his gut, thanks to the drag of his cock along Seungcheol's belly.

Seungcheol's murmured words of obscene encouragement don't help, though, nor is his mammoth pricks ability to hit Jihoon's prostate more often than not, and soon Jihoon's rhythm is faltering, his hands skating over sweat-slick skin, desperate for something to cling to.

“ _Ahh_ — _ahhnn_ —fuck— _yess_ — _ahh_!”

Hands tighten on Jihoon's hips in an attempt to help calm him, but the tingle marches its way up Jihoon's spine until he's whimpering Seungcheol's name into Seungcheol's open mouth and coming between their stomachs.

Seungcheol lets him tumble into the sheets, then, limp and sated and sticky with come.

He starts moving again, keeping his strokes languid, pelvis grinding against Jihoon's sensitive cock enough that he twitches.  “Oh—god— _hnnn_ ”

Jihoon’s vision whites out and he chokes back a sob when Seungcheol hits his prostate again, fingers curling in the air. Seungcheol whispers apologies into Jihoon's hair, but he does it again, and again and Jihoon clenches around him, whispers, " _Oh—fuck—please daddy_ ," and that finally tips Seungcheol over into his own orgasm.

Seungcheol leans his hand heavily against the bed next to Jihoon in an attempt not to collapse on top of him. For a minute, he stays where he is, breathing hard. Then he touches Jihoon's thigh with a gentle hand, gripping the base of his dick carefully as he withdraws.

Jihoon sighs as the head slips out. He closes his eyes, trying to get used to the sudden emptiness inside of him, the ring of muscles at his opening grasping at nothing, unable to close completely. He shifts; the area feels swollen and sticky.  _Used_ , his mind tells him, a trace of something that might be satisfaction curling around the thought.

Seungcheol shifts off the bed—probably to dispose of the condom, and Jihoon lets his eyes flutter shut for a spell.

The bed dips again, and then Seungcheol's hot palm spreads low on his belly, which feels a little possessive. But Jihoon is sort of glad of that at the moment. Because he feels thin and light, and weirdly fragile, like this is a place where things could go wrong if he doesn't say the right thing, or do the right thing, or something. But Seungcheol's the one who's curling closer, body pressing in warm, heavy lines along Jihoon's side. He presses his nose into Jihoon's ear, breathes there, quiet and steady.

“Good boy.” Seungcheol purrs. Voice a rumble of sound that feels like a caress where he's pressed into Jihoon's skin.

* * *

 

Jihoon, sprawled naked on his bed, finally taking his cock, is something to see; he’s wet, noisy, responsive, and his refractory period is devastatingly short.

“Full marks for multiple orgasms,” says Seungcheol, sometime between rounds two and three.

“Not to be that guy,” Jihoon drawls, and Seungcheol lifts his head, looks up the naked boyish landscape of Jihoon’s body to where Jihoon is sweating and panting and looking very pleased with himself. “But how soon do you think you can do that again?”

Seungcheol squints at him.

“I hear it can take older fellas a while to get it up again, do you need to take something?” Jihoon asks, stretching his arms over his head, smiling at Seungcheol.

“Now, hold up.” Seungcheol says, coming up on his elbows. “I don’t know what weird fantasy world you live in were I’m sixty years old—but in real life I’m still twenty-nine and completely capable of sporting an erection unassisted.”

Jihoon considers this. “You’re only twenty-nine? Woah—I was sure you were older than that. You _seem_ older.” He says, using that wonderfully arch, teasing tone Seungcheol remembers from their camera sessions.

Seungcheol affects an insulted expression. “You better watch your mouth.” He huffs, his mind too wonderfully blank for a more intelligent retort.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s nothing to do with appearance,” Jihoon says, still thinking it through. “It’s just—your music taste is pretty ancient.”

When Seungcheol flips him on his stomach and spanks his ass cheek once in retaliation, Jihoon’s  hiccupping moan is so devastating, it makes Seungcheol’s head spin.

“Rude.” Seungcheol grins, rubbing a hand down Jihoon’s ass. “But keep it up Jihoonie. I have no problem hauling you over my lap and spanking you.” He says, aiming to sound mildly amused but achieving something closer to seriously turned on.

Jihoon arches into his palm, moving his hips in a little restless motion. “Maybe I’m depending on that.”

Jesus Christ, Seungcheol thinks, this boy is a dream, even his wet dreams aren’t like this.

* * *

 

"Easy baby, easy—what’s the rush." Seungcheol coos, holding Jihoon still as he kisses him.

They _just_ fucked, they should ease off soon because the bruises on Jihoon’s hips are already taking shape—but Jihoon kisses back like he’s desperate for it, opening his mouth under Seungcheol’s, making a hot little noise in his throat when Seungcheol begins to jerk him off slowly, without real intent, just sliding his hand loosely up and down Jihoon’s cock, spreading around a little of the wetness at the tip.

Jihoon’s mouth opens; his eyes are wide, a little pleading. "You feel better than my toys, I—please."

There’s a faint mark on Jihoon’s throat; Seungcheol sets his teeth against it and Jihoon groans, thrusts up into his hand.

"I’m honoured, I know how much you love your toys," Seungcheol murmurs, worrying at the spot with his teeth a little, tightening his hand on Jihoon’s cock.

This is where Seungcheol would usually say, look at you, I’m going to make you beg for it, shit that sounds stupid coming out of his mouth but gets him off, gets the other guy off, but that’s not—it doesn’t seem like the right thing with Jihoon.

“You don’t have to answer—but when _was_ the last time you got fucked for real?” Seungcheol says, low.

"I—" Jihoon chokes out. "Mind your own business." He snaps, thrusting his cock restlessly into Seungcheol’s hand.

Seungcheol kisses him, laughing and Jihoon’s hands come up on either side of his face, carding through his hair, his mouth soft and eager.

He rolls his hips up into Seungcheol’s, one foot skidding against the bed when he tries to get more contact, and Seungcheol loses himself entirely in it.

Everything falls away, his job, his responsibilities, his stress and worry.

This is Seungcheol’s way out, Jihoon’s hot mouth, Jihoon rubbing up against him, grabbing his ass, and Seungcheol lets himself press Jihoon against the headboard and give him exactly what he’s asking for.

Seungcheol takes his time during round three, kissing Jihoon and fingering him open, easing back inside him while the bed thuds against the wall gently.

Jihoon tilts his face up for kisses, again and again, and when Seungcheol is fully inside him, getting into the rhythm of it, fucking into him, holding Jihoon’s leg steady, Jihoon throws back his head and screams, "Daddy!" and Seungcheol feels irrationally sick with envy at his own life.

* * *

 

“Nearly done, that’s it…fuck, you’re so beautiful, so good like this, come here to me.”

Seungcheol can’t have him in his arms fast enough. Jihoon’s lashes are damp and his mouth is slack, but he lets Seungcheol hold him and kiss him even though he’d probably like nothing better than to melt into the bed and sleep for a year.

They both need to clean up, desperately, but neither of them moves.

Seungcheol props himself on the pillows and pulls Jihoon into his lap. His little dumpling is a boneless weight, curling against Seungcheol’s chest and tucking his face into Seungcheol’s neck.

Seungcheol grins, pleased and feeling luckier than he could've ever thought possible.

He loves how neatly Jihoon fits in his lap, and he wraps one arm around slim shoulders to hold him close, rubbing soothing circles over Jihoon’s back.

Jihoon makes an almost worshipful sound of gratitude when Seungcheol carefully pushes his hair out of his face, and Seungcheol has to press his lips to Jihoon’s collarbone to keep from saying anything and revealing his inner sentimentalist.

Then Jihoon mumbles, “I know I turned the offer down earlier, but I could totally eat now.” and sounds so deadly serious about it Seungcheol can’t do anything but laugh into his hair.

* * *

 

The doorbell cuts into the air, shrill and insistent.

Jihoon watches Seungcheol slap an enormous tip into the attendant’s hand and exchange a meaningful smile with him—one that says he’s sorry for the noise disturbance.

“So why the job at the coffee shop? I thought the cam-boy gig would be— _lucrative_ enough on its own.” Seungcheol asks, pushing more food onto Jihoon’s already full plate.

They’re spread out on the bed in the master suite, a fresh pile of room service in front of them. They’re sitting crossed-legged, Jihoon in a borrowed T-shirt that could easily accommodate two of him, Seungcheol bare-chested but wearing a pair of loose jogging bottoms.

He looks entirely different out of his suit, less mysterious but more touchable, and Jihoon isn't quite sure which he prefers.

“I worked at the coffee shop before I started the streaming. But when I first got the job, Jisoo could only offer me a zero hour contract—so some weeks I didn’t get any shifts and I had bills to pay.” Jihoon says, smirking, shoving a handful of fries gracelessly into his own mouth.

Seungcheol looks at him for a long minute. “So why keep it up now?”

“Cause I _like_ it. My friends work there, it looks good on my CV and my boss is nice.” Jihoon says, feeling oddly defensive. “Oh—and I get free coffee.”

Seungcheol leans back against the headboard. He looks Jihoon over, assessing and sharp. “Is your boss that guy that attacked me with the broom?”

Jihoon smirks sideways at him, taking a loud slurp of his milkshake. “No. That’s Seungkwan. He just works there—though I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s the boss.”

“He certainly is intimidating.” Seungcheol grins. “Is he a cam boy too?”

Jihoon scowls, then shoves a handful of fries between Seungcheol’s lips. “Why are you asking? Bored of me already are you?” He says, an inch away from pouting.

“I—wash—jus—machin—converhashun.” Seungcheol says, laughing full-mouthed and barely comprehensible.

Jihoon’s phone buzzes from across the room. It’s been buzzing non-stop for the last hour. He bounces off the bed to fetch it.

He finds five missed calls and three text messages from Jeonghan. The last one says he’ll be calling the police if Jihoon doesn’t answer soon and that he never should have supported Jihoon’s decision to cam-boy in the first place.

Jihoon swears under his breath and quickly calls Jeonghan back.

 _“LEE JIHOON, IF YOU ARE NOT DEAD, OR IN A HOSPITAL, YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE.”_ Jeonghan answer without preamble.

Jihoon laughs out loud in surprise, but realizes immediately this is the _wrong_ response.

Jeonghan starts _screeching_ over the line, and Jihoon has to hold the phone a foot from his ear while he lets it all out.

Seungcheol’s looking at him from across the room now, all questioning eyebrows.

“Sorry, I’ll take this in the bathroom.” Jihoon mouths silently to him.

Seungcheol smiles and nods toward Jihoon in a soundless gesture of,  _don’t worry, go ahead._

Jihoon pads over to the bathroom with the phone in hand, and locks the door behind him. Eventually the volume of Jeonghan’s insults seems to lower, and Jihoon takes a chance and inches the phone closer to his ear.

_“—WHAT THE FUCK WHERE YOU THINKING!? WHEN I TOLD YOU TO GO TALK TO THE GUY I DIDN’T MEAN GO HOME WITH HIM. JISOO’S BEEN BREAKING MY BALLS ALL NIGHT. AND NOT THEY WAY I LIKE IT EITHER. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD PUT YOURSELF IN DANGER LIKE THAT. HAVE YOU NO—”_

“Hannie!” Jihoon hisses.

 _“DON’T!”_ Jeonghan says immediately. _“DON’T EVEN TRY TO FUCKING TALK YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS, I’VE BEEN PANICKING ALL NIGHT. WE THOUGHT YOU HAD BEEN MURDERED—”_

Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“Hannie pleaseI!” he tries again. “I’m fucking sorry, okay! And I won’t try to talk my way out of this because I  _know_  I was stupid, but I’m okay—everything’s fine.”

_“WELL TELL THAT TO JISOO! HE WANTED TO FILE A MISSING PERSONS REPORT! AND SEUNGKWAN IS MAKING FLYERS WITH YOUR FACE ON THEM.”_

Jihoon should have seen that coming really. “Oh god. Please don’t let him do that! I’m fine. I’m not missing.”

Jeonghan sounds slightly less agitated when he asks, _“Where are you?”_

Jihoon rattles off the name of the hotel and listens as Jeonghan whistles.

 _“Ohhh—fancy. That’s a pretty swish place.”_ Jeonghan says, in a much less hostile tone. _“I wanted to take Jisoo there for our anniversary once, but the rooms are like three months wages a night. Hey, if you get a chance, check out the spa, they have an award winning—Oh—hold on.”_

He pauses, and says something in a heated whisper that Jihoon can’t quite make out.

 _“Jisoo’s mad at me for getting side tracked.”_ Jeonghan says with a sigh.

“I’m sorry guys. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Jihoon groans. “I didn’t think it was a big deal until Seungcheol told me off.”

There is a brief pause.

 _“He’s the one who made you message me?”_ Jeonghan asks, and his voice sounds slightly unsure.

Jihoon doesn’t bother to deny it. “Yeah. He was—pretty pissed I was so careless.”

Jeonghan hums agreement from the other end.  _“Well—that’s weirdly good of him. How long are you staying with him?”_

“I dunno. The night I guess. But, he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing.” He clears his throat, and drops his voice into a whisper. “He said he wants to take care of me, to be my sugar daddy.”

It’s the first time Jihoon’s said it out loud, even thought it out loud. But it suddenly registers with him how much his life is going to change.

Jeonghan huffs through the phone. “ _Don’t sign anything until you’ve had time to think about it. No matter how tempting any offer.”_

“He’s not like that, Hannie. He’s really sweet.” Jihoon answers, in a rare moment of total honesty.

 _“Oh—wow. Can’t believe you’re so whipped for this guy’s dick already.”_ Jeonghan says. His tone is sharp but fond, the way he’s used to hearing it.

* * *

 

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, as he walks back into the room.

“Yeah, just the friend I messaged earlier kinda freaked out.” Jihoon says, sitting down on the bed and letting his whole body go slack. “He’s telling me not to sign anything.”

“Sign anything? What does that mean?” Seungcheol says, grabbing his arm and dragging him closer, until Jihoon's effectively straddling his lap, facing him.

Jihoon swallows thickly. “A contract. Like a sugar baby contract.” He explains.

“That’s a thing?” Seungcheol asks, narrowing his eyes to a squint.

Jihoon nods. “Think about it, a lot of men who get into ‘sugaring’ are married, influential. This kind of thing would—damage their reputation. A contract probably takes care of the confidentiality issue between both parties.”

Seungcheol tuts quietly, lazy and amused. “I don’t really give a shit. I’m not married and it’s nobody’s business who I sleep with.”

Jihoon quirks an amused brow. “So—you don’t have an issue with me showing up at your work and demanding you fulfil me sexually?”

Seungcheol smiles in a way that suggests he would very much enjoy that and Jihoon should do it at his earliest convenience.

Jihoon shoves at his chest playfully. “If you don’t like the idea of a contract, fine. But we need to establish rules at least.”

“Okay—In a minute.” Seungcheol says, nibbling at his earlobe.

“No. Now.” Jihoon squirms, and he has to stop touching the dips of muscle on Seungcheol's stomach, because it's distracting, and they will fail to have this conversation and just have sex again, if their relationship so far is any indicator. “We should have done this before we fucked actually. If we don’t do it now—we never will.”

Seungcheol laughs against the curve of his throat, and his hand tightens on Jihoon's waist. “No complaints here.”

Jihoon wriggles in his lap to get more comfortable. “It won’t take long, I’ll type them up on my phone. I’ll set conditions and you can Veto what you’re not sure about. Then you set conditions and vice versa.”

Seungcheol dips his head in acknowledgment.

“Rule number one,” Jihoon begins, tapping away on his phone. “I’m not a prostitute.”

Seungcheol’s face does a meaningful sort of scrunch. “I never said you were.”

“Meaning, I’m not always at your beck and call. I can’t just show up cause you want me to ride you. I have college and my job. They’re important to me.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But,” Seungcheol’s expression is weirdly intense all of a sudden. He is trying really hard to look like he won't hate what comes next. “Which job are we talking about here?”

“Which brings me to rule number two,” Jihoon drawls. He purses his lips, and thinks very carefully about how to phrase what he wants to say next. “I can still keep the cam-boy work up if I want. Granted—I’ll have less time for it seeing as I’ll be with you more often, but the decision to perform is ultimately mine.”

Seungcheol inhales slowly, holds it—then releases it equally slow. “Alright.”

“Good, okay. Rule number three—I have control over my appearance. If you want me to wear something specific—you need to ask me in advance, and I still have the right to refuse. For example—don’t ever think about asking me to wear a dress. That’s not happening. Ever.”

Seungcheol nods. “That’s fair.”

“Also, you can’t ask me to diet or change my hair colour. I like to experiment with my hair.”

Seungcheol laughs, one messy noise of amusement. “First of all—you’re tiny, I _want_ to feed you all the food. Secondly, it’s _your_ hair. It would be absurd for me to object to you changing it in any way.”

Jihoon tilts his head in reflection. “I’m thinking of dying it red—maybe getting a mullet.”

Seungcheol’s face goes through some sort of complicated internal fight. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Now Seungcheol’s face seems...weirdly neutral all of a sudden, as if he's forcing himself not to make any sort of expression at all. “Sounds— _awesome_. I—can’t—wait—to—see—that.” He says, a heavy dose of reluctance to the sentence.

Jihoon really wants to laugh, but manages to keep a sober face.

“Rule number four: No business orgies. You can’t pass me around to your ‘business friends’ when you need to ‘close a deal’ or something.”

Seungcheol now has that badly masked look of horror on his face. “Why-why—why would I even—why?”

“I dunno.” Jihoon shrugs lopsidedly. “Don’t business men—close deals with orgies and stuff?”

Seungcheol bursts out laughing. “No. No. So much in a way of no.”

Jihoon scowls at his phone screen, trying to be the picture of seriousness. He’s probably failing at it. Seungcheol is still laughing, he can feel the vibration.

 _“Business orgies.”_ Seungcheol bellows out between laughs.

“Rule number five!” Jihoon yells over Seungcheol’s laughter.

Jihoon stares at him with a look of pure exasperation, until Seungcheol’s laughter eases back and he quirks a brow. “Well?”

“I—cant think of anything else. I’ve never done this before.”

Seungcheol’s face breaks out into a ridiculous grin. He reaches a hand up to scratch Jihoon under the chin—like he’s some sort of cat. Oh— _kitten_ , that makes sense. “What about your allowance Dumpling. How much do you need monthly—weekly?”

Jihoon’s brow creases.

He’d actually kind of forgotten about that—the _allowance_. Which is ridiculous because this is what the entire arrangement should revolve around—financial support.

Fuck. He doesn't have the barest idea of what to ask for.

“Uhmm—five hundred bucks a month?” he offers.

It's a ridiculous amount, so Seungcheol can now laugh at him and ask for a similarly ridiculously low price, and they'll find themselves some kind of acceptable median to use.

But Seungcheol says, "That’s shockingly low," immediately, because he lives to thwart Jihoon's expectations.

Jihoon blinks. “Seven hundred?”

Seungcheol wrinkles his nose.

“One thousand.” Jihoon amends quickly.

Seungcheol looks at him, his face crumpled with unease. “Jihoon—I spend more money a week on food and drink. Why are you selling yourself short dumpling? That’s nowhere _near_ enough money for your company.”

Jihoon flushes from head to toe. He hates how easily Seungcheol can coax those out of him, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

“I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how much is acceptable. That's a lot of money for me.” He trails off warily, half expecting Seungcheol to laugh at him or something, but Seungcheol doesn't. He just nods thoughtfully.

“How about I just—transfer an amount I think is appropriate every week? If you need more—you let me know.” Seungcheol murmurs, and the look in his eyes is so fond that Jihoon has to look away, he  _has_  to.

“Okay.” Jihoon nods, typing that out on his phone too.

“Rule number six,” His eyes lift, meet Seungcheol's, and then slide away. “I can date guys if I want to.”

“ **Veto**.” There's no hesitation there, Seungcheol dismisses that one straight away.

Jihoon keeps his gaze focused on his phone, bites his lip to disguise the smile breaking out over his face. “I guess we’ll come back to that one then.” He says casually.

“No—we won’t. That’s a deal breaker for me.” Seungcheol makes it sound so rough and honest.

“I can barely stomach the idea of others watching you on camera—but I sure as hell won’t tolerate anyone physically touching you other than me.” He says. There's a snarl under the words, rising and falling like a wave.

Jihoon goes hot all over. No one’s ever spoken to him like this; fuck, he wasn’t even sure people spoke like this in real life at  _all_ , or maybe he just got really lucky by finding someone with a voice like Seungcheol’s.

Jihoon’s prepared to be quick-and-to-the-point about this,  _my terms, take them or I go_ , but he’s a little lost for words, because how can Seungcheol just say things like that, like they're  _normal_? Jihoon wasn’t planning on dating if he’s been _entirely_ transparent, but the fact that Seungcheol wants him all to himself makes Jihoon's insides twist into some sort of aroused knot.

He frowns down at his phone, a little pleased—a lot confused.

“But there’s this really cute regular at the coffee shop…” Jihoon starts to tease.

Seungcheol growls, and mouths across his neck and the bend of his shoulder, teeth scraping in gentle pulls.

Jihoon is going to take that as an emphatic no, and he's immediately shivery with relief - not just relief.

He doesn’t know how it happens—but rule number six ends up in them having sex again.

Jihoon ends up with his legs spread, one hand thrown over his head and fisted in the sheets, Seungcheol fucking any remaining arguments out of him. Not that there were any to begin with.

“No dating dumpling,” Seungcheol says, thready and rough, pulling Jihoon back onto his cock. "Is that understood?" It sounds more like a demand than a question, but Jihoon doesn't even care.

“Yes—daddy.” Jihoon manages to choke out, which is an incredible feat considering his knees are pressed against his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs with each drive of Seungcheol’s cock.

“Good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) LARGE CHAPTER.  
> 2) I was hoping to release this yesterday on Jihoon's Birthday as my gift to Jicheol fam, but as I already stated LARGE CHAPTER.  
> 3) I hope the smut was satisfying. I have read people's suggestions about what they would like to see, smut wise, and I have plans...devious plans for the next few updates. Please keep the suggestions coming. Even if I don't use them in this story arc, I can use them elsewhere :)  
> 4) I like to think of Jihoon as..yes..an experienced cam boy, but away from that...meeting up with Seungcheol is very new to him. Actual relationships away from the camera are new territory for him and Seungcheol honed in on that.  
> 5) Hope you enjoy reading! Feedback always appreciated and so motivating!


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